I Want My Skull Back
by poisonesse
Summary: John has no idea what's going on, but he's pretty sure that involves Sherlock, a skull and a pair of probably-insane Irish detectives. One-shot; it's been bugging my mind for far too long.


'I want my skull back, Holmes. I won't ask you again.' That was the first thing that John Watson heard when he opened the door to his flat, and it was odd enough to make him blink twice, then frown and look between Sherlock and the two guests sitting on the couch opposite him.

The consulting detective and his guests didn't even bother to acknowledge him as he entered the room, prompting John's frown to deepen as he pointedly cleared his throat.

Three heads swivelled in his direction. He looked at them all, eyebrows raised, lips pursed, making it clear that he wanted an explanation.

Sherlock was the first to speak. 'John, there are people in the flat, and I don't want them here. Get them out.'

'We're not leaving until we get what we came here for,' one of the guests, a dark-haired girl who couldn't be over the age of twenty, said impatiently, a stormy look on her pretty face.

'That's highly unfortunate, then, as you're not going to be _getting _what you came here for,' Sherlock retorted, plucking at a string on his violin and giving the two apparently unwelcome guests a challenging look.

'Listen, can someone please tell me what the hell is going on here?' John interrupted, slightly annoyed at being left out of the loop- again. He looked at the guests, the annoyed-looking girl with the pretty face and the dark hair and the tall, thin and waxy-skinned man wearing an impeccible suit. 'Who are you, and what's this... thing that you're after?' He was pointedly trying to ignore what he'd heard as he walked into the room. _I want my skull back, Holmes. I won't ask you again. _John shook his head inwardly.

The thin man smoothly rose to his feet, extending a gloved hand towards John. 'My name is Skulduggery Pleasant, and this is my partner, Valkyrie Cain. It's a pleasure to meet you. Now, if you wouldn't mind, we'd like to retrieve the human skull that your friend here stole from us two months ago.'

John stared at the man, the man with the odd name and the odd partner and the odd request. _Odd_. Simply odd. Then, John gave up trying to apply logic to this situation and simply shook the man's hand, muttering, 'Right. Of course.'

After a few moments of silence, Valkyrie- who was still sat on the couch- spoke up. 'That was the cue for you to give us _your _name. And the skull. But if you want to take things slowly, just the name will do for now.'

'Ah, right, of course- sorry,' John said. 'I'm... er, I'm John Watson.' He frowned, glancing at Sherlock. 'It's a... pleasure, I'm sure. Look, would someone, _anyone, _please explain this to me? Because I don't think I'm getting it.'

Valkyrie rolled her eyes, looking at John as if he were stupid. She spoke slowly, as if talking to a child who was trying to understand why the sky was blue. 'We-' she pointed between herself and Skulduggery, -'are here to get a skull-' she tapped her head, '-which your friend-' she gestured to the sulky-looking Sherlock, 'stole from us. Do you understand?'

John glared at her. 'I think I got that, yes. What I mean is, _why _are you after the skull?'

'Because it's mine,' Skulduggery said with a sniff.

'What, you've called dibs on it, have you? Laid a claim?' John shook his head incredulously, shooting Sherlock a _what a nutter _look.

'You make it sound so childish,' the man murmured. 'But, really, I have a right to do so. That skull is literally mine. _Literally. _As in, it was once attached to my neck, but now isn't.'

John stared. He stared, and he stared, and then he turned to Sherlock and said in a strangled voice, 'Tell me that he's joking.'

Sherlock merely eyed him in that way of his, the way he had eyed him when John had gone spouting off about how Sherlock couldn't _possibly _be a drug user. Like it was a cue for him to shut up. John did so without question, and Sherlock took over the conversation.

'I'm afraid, Mr. Pleasant, that the Murder Skull is no longer yours to lay claim to. It belongs to me now, even if not in the literal sense of the word. I won't be giving it to you no matter how much you plead.' He got to his feet in one languid move and gestured to the door with his violin bow. 'Good day, detectives. Try not to let your egos scrape at the walls on the way out, it has a horrid effect on the wallpaper.'

'If you're not going to hand it over, then we're just going to take it,' Skulduggery said, his tone vaguely threatening. 'And if you happen to be in our way while we do that, then we have no problem with taking you out of the picture- temporarily, of course.'

Sherlock gave the thin man a tight smile. 'I'd like to see you try.'

'I'm not sure you would.'

'Yeah, all right, ladies, let's calm it down,' John said in an effort to calm the tension. 'Sherlock, just... why don't you just give them the skull? As long as it gets them out of here-'

'No,' Sherlock said. 'That's an idiotic idea.'

'I don't think it is; I think it's a great idea,' Valkyrie chimed in hopefully, only to be silenced with a sharp look from Sherlock.

'As soon as we have what we came for, we'll leave,' Skulduggery said, sounding sincere. 'But, rest assured, Mr. Holmes, we are not going anywhere without it.'

'Then I believe you're going to be staying here for a frankly unfortunate amount of time. Should I offer you a cup of tea while you wait?'

Valkyrie narrowed her eyes at Sherlock. 'You do know, don't you,' she said, 'that we're going to be leaving here with the skull within the hour whether you agree to it or not, don't you?'

'No. I wasn't aware of this particular tidbit, but go on.'

'Because if you refuse our polite request one more time, Mr. Holmes, then we're going to have to simply ransack your flat in search of it. Don't you think it'd be much easier to just _give _it to us? Don't you think that'd be nice?'

John, alarmed, looked at Sherlock. 'I think that'd be nice,' he said, somewhat urgently, giving his friend a rather pointed look.

'I have to disagree with you,' Sherlock said simply.

Valkyrie gave a threatening smile. 'Despite your reputation, Mr. Holmes, you don't seem to be as smart as your partner.'

'I'd have to disagree with _you_, too.'

'Give us the skull,' Skulduggery said. '_Please_.'

Sherlock, much to John's own surprise, actually paused for a moment, as if considering this. Then, he looked at the two guests- apparently detectives, if John had heard right earlier- and, with an air of mock sadness, shook his head.

* * *

Less than an hour later, a _very_ sulky Sherlock Holmes was sat on the floor, surrounded by a huge, unforgiving mess that John was dreading having to clean up.

'You just had to go and be bloody stubborn, didn't you,' John berated him. 'You just couldn't just give up when you had the chance- look at the bloody state of the place, Sherlock! All because you wouldn't just give them that damned skull!'

The dark-haired man on the floor remained silent, glaring petulantly at nothing in particular. John dreaded to think what might be going on inside the man's head- undoubtedly, he was fantasizing about the brutal murder of a certain pair of Irish detectives.

'You're going to help me with this,' John stated, even though he knew it was pointless. Sherlock wasn't listening to him, and even if he was, he wasn't going to obey John's orders. 'You're going to help me clean up the mess that _you _technically helped to make.'

'Not my fault they ransacked the house,' Sherlock muttered darkly.

'Not your-' John had to stop and take a breath, just to ensure that he didn't say something he might regret later. 'Of _course _it's your bloody fault! You could have just handed the skull over! That way, you wouldn't have a possible broken leg, I wouldn't have about fifteen bruises threatening to form, and the flat wouldn't look like a bomb had just gone off inside it!'

'I lost the skull,' was all Sherlock said in reply, and John gave up. He just gave up trying to argue with the ridiculously stubborn man, and instead started walking over to the kitchen, to start to clean up the impossible mess that Skulduggery Pleasant and Valkyrie Cain had made of 221b Baker Street. But he couldn't resist trying to get the final word in this particular argument- if you could call it that- so on the way out, he said over his shoulder, 'You'll be damn well lucky if you don't lose _your _skull if you keep this up.'

'Make me some tea,' came Sherlock's snappy retort, and John sighed.

**A/N: I couldn't resist. You're welcome. Feel free to hurt me. And review.  
~Heather.**


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